


stand and deliver

by buckgaybarnes



Series: regency AU [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Kaiju, Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Semi-Disastrous Meet-Cute, anachronistic language abounds, the author did actually do research on proper highway robbery procedure and then ignored it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Hermann’s heard rumors of the highwayman that lurks these roads—it’s one of the reasons why he’d been so nervous to travel in the first place. They say the highwayman has eyes that flash like the devil’s, that he sprang forth from nightmares, that he’ll take everything but prisoners.(OR a wildly self-indulgent oneshot featuring nobleman hermann and incompetent highwayman newt who only manages to steal one thing: hermann's heart)





	stand and deliver

**Author's Note:**

> if you follow me on my side nsfw twitter or my tumblr youve definitely already seen this since i posted them there too but this au has absolutely consumed me and it's really all i can think about AND i expanded the ending a bit. expect more in this universe probably because ive built up an unnecessary amount of lore for it
> 
> dedicating this one to chuck and ferio for indulging me in talking about it all the time

Hermann has never cared for long coach rides. The cramped confines of carriages make his leg ache, and the constant jostling sets his nerves on end and ensures he can never quite fall asleep. This one in particular is unbearable, and not because the journey has lasted him a day already. It’s more due to the fact that Hermann’s currently being robbed.

At least, that’s what Hermann assumes is happening: the carriage has come to a screeching halt, and there’s a great deal of shouting going on outside. He hears his coachman cry out, and then nothing. Hermann does not move.

The carriage door is flung open. Hermann comes face to face with the end of a pistol. “Evening,” the owner of the pistol says, gruff-voiced. The man is mounted on horseback—a fearsome, snarling thing—and a black bandanna covers the lower half of his face. Not that Hermann would be able to see his face anyway: the night obscures his eyes, only his body thrown into sharp relief by the lanterns of Hermann’s carriage. He’s wrapped in a dark cloak.

Hermann’s heard rumors of the highwayman that lurks these roads—it’s one of the reasons why he’d been so nervous to travel in the first place. They say the highwayman has eyes that flash like the devil’s, that he sprang forth from nightmares, that he’ll take everything _but_ prisoners. The Magpie, they call him.

“Hello,” Hermann says, unsure of the proper procedure for being robbed. “What have you done to my coachman?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” the highwayman says, oddly polite; as far as Hermann knows, this doesn’t seem to be the usual procedure. “I only knocked him over the head. He’ll wake up in a bit.” That’s a relief, at least. Hermann can’t steer for the life of him, and he’d rather not be stranded in the woods all night. The highwayman shakes his pistol in Hermann’s face. “In the meantime, how about you start handing everything over?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of valuables on me,” Hermann says, unsure once more, but this time of why he’s apologizing to a _highwayman_. The pistol is alarming him, making him unable to think straight—Hermann’s never been at the end of one before. His heart is racing.

“With a fancy carriage like _yours_?” the highwayman says, and snorts. “Don’t hold out on me, handsome.”

Handsome? Hermann starts fumbling in his pockets. It’s the truth, really, he _doesn’t_ have many valuables on his person tonight. He hates ostentatious reminders of his family’s wealth and never wears jewelry, though he is admittedly fond of silk cravats and a good handkerchief. He pulls his money bag from his breeches, his nice pocket watch from inside his waistcoat. “I swear to you,” Hermann says, laying them delicately on the empty seat next to him within reach of the highwayman, “this is all I have.”

The highwayman lowers his pistol and leans in to pick up each. That’s when Hermann springs to action; he twists the head of his cane _just_ so and unsheathes a sword, whips it out and points it at the highwayman’s chest in one furious, fluid motion, hopes for the element of surprise. “Drop them,” Hermann snarls. He doesn’t expect it to work. The highwayman has a _pistol_ , after all, he could shoot Hermann dead before Hermann even gets remotely close to stabbing him. But the highwayman takes one look at Hermann’s sword, lets out a shrill little yelp, and immediately falls off his horse.

Hermann blinks. He peers out the carriage door.

The highwayman is lying in a little heap on the dirt road, bandanna askew, cloak twisted about his person. His pistol’s fallen from his hand to the carriage seat.  “Easy!” he squeaks, and holds his hands up to shield himself from the sword. “You could _really_ hurt someone with that.” His voice has lost all hint of threatening gruffness. It’s somewhat high, Hermann realizes. A little scratchy.

“As opposed to swinging _pistols_ about,” Hermann says, not lowering the sword, “which are infamously harmless.”

“It’s not loaded,” the highwayman says, and sure enough, when Hermann picks up the pistol and inspects it, the bullet chamber is completely empty. Which, frankly, raises more questions.

“Why do you carry an empty pistol?”

“It’s all about appearance, you know, instilling fear. I don’t actually want to kill anyone,” the highwayman says, and he gets a little sarcastic. “You might not know this, but that’s incredibly illegal.”

“One might say the same of _robbery_ ,” Hermann points out.

“One might,” the highwayman says, and he gets to his feet cautiously, shadowy eyes trained on the sword. “One might _also_ say it’s nothing but a—redistribution of wealth. How familiar are you with folklore? Ever heard of Robin Hood?”

The highwayman’s actually quite short, Hermann sees, now that he’s down from that dreadful horse of his. His breeches are nearly indecently tight. Not that Hermann noticed. “Oh, so you’re a _noble_ thief,” Hermann says. “Forgive me for making assumptions. Typically when strange men rob me at gunpoint I tend to think the worst of them.”

“Mostly noble,” the highwayman says, and Hermann can nearly hear his grin behind his bandanna. “I’m also the poor, common folk in the scenario, see.”

“Mm.” Hermann lowers his sword an inch. “You’re fairly talkative for a highwayman.” He supposes the magpie moniker is appropriate.

“You’re surprisingly merciful for someone I tried to rob,” the highwayman says. “If I return your belongings, will you stop pointing that thing at me?”

“Remove your mask first,” Hermann orders. The highwayman hesitates a moment, and then his gloved hands go to the knot of his bandanna. He unties it, and it falls to the ground. Hermann nearly drops the sword in shock.

The highwayman is young, no older than Hermann himself—not the aged, haggard man of legends Hermann had been expecting. His features are soft, rounded, his hair messy, his cheeks freckled. His eyes aren’t like some sort of devil’s at all—they’re green, shielded by a pair of thick spectacles, which would explain all the flashing in the light. Hermann’s aware he’s staring, but he can’t help it. The highwayman is— _attractive_. “Now?” the highwayman says, and there’s a little mischievous glint in his eye, as if he’s somehow privy to Hermann’s thoughts. Or perhaps he merely has eyes. Hermann had not been particularly subtle in his sweeping examination of the man. His cheeks feel warm.

“Oh, go on,” he sighs, and finally re-sheaths the sword. The highwayman bows courteously—and perhaps a bit mockingly—and ducks down to pick up Hermann’s money and watch.

“No one’s ever fought back before,” the highwayman says, out of sight. “Mostly everyone’s too afraid. Or too wealthy to care. What are a few stolen gold rings if you’ve got a dozen more at home?”

“I don’t particularly care either,” Hermann confesses. “It’s my father’s wealth, not mine, and we don’t exactly—get along.” Hermann’s unclear on why he’s explaining so much of his life to a thief, albeit a handsome and oddly charming thief. “I’m simply in a hurry, you see, and was already feeling rather cross, so you can only imagine how your presence must’ve affected me.”

“A hurry?” the highwayman says, ducking back into sight with Hermann’s money bag and watch clutched in his hands. He’s grinning once more.

Hermann’s heart sinks in his chest. He _is_ in a hurry, and he’s certainly lost a great deal of time by now—the sun’s set throughout the course of his exchange with the highwayman. He’ll have to pay for an inn along the route, now, perhaps pay someone to deliver a message to Newton and let him know his arrival will be delayed. Their first meeting put off yet another day. “I _was_ in a hurry,” Hermann corrects. “I’m due to meet—someone.”

“A lover?” the highwayman says, mischievous glint back. “Don’t say yes. I’ll be _heartbroken_.”

Hermann’s heart flutters a bit. Damn this little man. “Are you always this incorrigibly flirtatious with your victims?”

“No,” the highwayman says, and winks. “You’re the exception.” He turns the watch over in his hands, and Hermann’s surprised to see him frown at the Gottlieb family crest. It’s a little gaudy, Hermann supposes; he tends to avoid using it on much other than the watch in question, which had been a gift, and his letter seal. “This is—familiar,” the highwayman says. Very suddenly, his eyes widen behind his spectacles. He looks up at Hermann. “Hermann?” he squeaks.

“Yes?” Hermann says, eyebrows arching. “How do you know—?”

“I swear to you,” the highwayman stammers, “I didn’t know it was you. Truly. I wouldn’t have—”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“It’s meant to fund my research,” the highwayman says, and Hermann shuts his eyes and groans, because of course, of _course_ it’s _him_.

“Of course,” he says. “ _Newton_.”

“In the flesh,” Newton says, and gives a high, nervous laugh. “Uh. Sorry?”

“You pulled a pistol on me!”

“Unloaded!” Newton exclaims. “You pulled a sword on me! Why do you even own a sword?”

“Frankly, I don’t believe that is any of your business,” Hermann sniffs. “Bloody well figures you’re a thief. What are you doing lurking about in the woods when I was meant to be arriving at _your_ estate tonight?” Not just a thief, but a terrible host at that.

“I was bored of waiting for you!” Newton says. “It was only meant to be a quick little robbery.” Hermann believes it; even through no means of communication but letter correspondence over the course of their four year-long partnership, Hermann has inferred how easily restless and distracted Newton is made. “What are _you_ doing travelling the route of the Magpie?”

“The _Magpie_ ,” Hermann snorts derisively. Newton—shrill-voiced, a good head shorter than the average man, waving an empty pistol—springing forth from nightmares.

“Don’t laugh!” Newton says. “You were _all_ over the Magpie, Hermann, you thought I was so _mysterious_ and _alluring_. I bet you were a minute away from asking me to _ravish_ you right here.”

“Mysterious and alluring indeed,” Hermann says, choosing not to remark on the accusation of desired ravishment but instead recalling in vivid detail Newton falling from his horse. And then he recalls something else. “You called me handsome.”

“Perhaps I did,” Newton says, cheeks flaming.

“Do you still—”

“Yes,” Newton says.

Hermann glances to the front of the carriage. “How long until—”

Newton’s inching up to the side of the carriage. “Another half an hour or so,” he says. “I’m highly skilled at rendering people unconscious. Doctor’s _touch_ , you know.”

Hermann does not miss the innuendo. “Get up here, then,” Hermann says, and Newton hoists himself inside and falls upon Hermann’s lap, showering him with kisses.

By all accounts, Newton is a no-good thief. A blight on society. Hermann should loathe him. He should refuse his company, terminate their acquaintanceship. He should turn him over to the law and see him hanged right this instant. Newton is also his oldest friend. A brilliant scholar.

The secret object of Hermann’s affections for years now.

Hermann unclasps the heavy cloak from around Newton’s neck and unlaces his shirt without any difficulty, and Newton works his clever fingers into the knot of the cravat at Hermann’s throat. Hermann cannot help but stare at him: at the hair falling from Newton's braid and curling with sweat, at the thick spectacles slipping down his freckled nose. Newton notices Hermann’s heady gaze and grins devilishly at him. “Dr. Gottlieb,” he says in Hermann’s ear, pausing momentarily in his ministrations, “I shudder to think at what would happen if we were discovered right now.”

Hermann pushes the collar of Newton’s loose shirt aside to mouth at his collarbone. He’s inked, there, lovely swirls of colors down his chest, the likes of which Hermann’s never seen before. “Discovered?”

Newton moans when Hermann cups him through his tight, clinging breeches. “Anyone could happen upon us,” he says, though Hermann finds it unlikely; the hour is late, and Hermann passed no other travelers on his journey here. “What would they say if they saw—oh—the likes of me consorting with the likes of you?”

“A fair point,” Hermann says, squeezing, and Newton’s forehead knocks his own. “You are a _scoundrel,_ after all, Newton.” Newton laughs, merry, and Hermann steals another kiss.

“A scoundrel you’re willingly allowing to have his way with you,” Newton says, running his fingers down the frills of Hermann’s shirt to tease the waist of his breeches.

“Indeed,” Hermann agrees, sighing pleasantly as Newton’s hand teases lower, and he pets at Newton's long, tumbling hair, “now, hush.”

 

 

Newton kisses Hermann farewell like the gentleman he isn’t after—well—after they have their way with _each other_. His shirt is poorly re-laced and the clasps of his cloak are done up incorrectly, but he’s swaggering like he’s dressed in silk and gold. “You’re lucky,” he declares, “that I have decided to spare your life _this_ time, Gottlieb.” Hermann, sated and warm from their lovemaking, with clothing in disarray and love bites at his neck, watches Newton stumble repeatedly in his attempts to re-mount his horse. “Damn thing,” Newton swears, “she never wants—ha!” He makes it onto the saddle.

“Wait,” Hermann says, and draws his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. He kisses it once, then holds it out to Newton. “For luck,” Hermann explains.

Newton brushes the spot of the handkerchief that Hermann’s lips touched, and his smile is wide when he pockets it. “Safe travels,” he says, a touch ironically, before retying his bandanna.

“Until tomorrow,” Hermann says.

**Author's Note:**

> ferio has drawn some VERY HANDSOME art of highwayman newt and nobleman hermann of this AU right [here](http://hermannsthumb.tumblr.com/post/177411005908/feriowind-various-long-haired-newts-lol1) too and i love it more than anything
> 
> tumblr and twitter at usual spots!


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